Mera chain wain sab ujda, zaalim nazar hata le. Barbaad ho gaye hain ji tere apne sheher waale. Oh meri angadaayi na toote tu aaja. Kajara re Kajara re...

So goes the song. That it goes this way is not something I hold against it. But that it should go this way the whole day in my head is not something I take very kindly to. And why? Just because I happen to come across it first thing in the morning while surfing channels? Was that this big an indiscretion?

It is not only this song. There have been many before it, and there will be many to follow I am certain, that have had this effect on me. I think I have what can be medically termed Obsessive Song Listening Disorder. It creeps in very innocuously at an impressionable age. I was 19, I think, when it first happened - all innocent and ignorant of the ways of this world when it came to songs taking their hold on people.

It was a seemingly harmless song called 'This Kiss' by Faith Hill. I was not even a fourteen year old girl at that point of time in my life. Hell, I have never been a fourteen year old girl at any point of time in my life. But this song! Like tits and ass make the world go round (as Harold Robbins had once written in one of his books), this song just kept making my head spin. I could not listen to it, and I could not not listen to it. There was a stage when I listened to it over and over again for up to two hours - basically till the other inhabitants of my house thumped me on my head.

I got over it. At least I thought I did. Until a few weeks ago when it came back. And this time it was worse because I did not have the song with me anymore. And I had to listen to it on launchcast that does not have a repeat feature. This basically meant I had to manually restart the song each time! It was as bad as watching television without the remote control. May be worse, if anything can be worse than that.

I have never been the same man ever since. And I am not sure if it was the song or Faith Hill. But something has held its sway. I started off bitching about kajara re and I ended up totally smitted with Faith Hill. Perhaps an International alert should be sounded. This disorder is deadly.

Current Mood: Gloomy
Current Music: The whirr of my CPU fan...
Courtesy a fellow blogger (Why am I using a phrase as hackneyed as this? Sigh!), my perspective on all things pornographic has undergone a slight metamorphosis. I have started to perceive them as more than means of healthy recreation.

Make no mistake. I have always held porn in the highest regard and have always believed the likes of Sindee Coxx, Sylvia Saint, Asia Carrerra, Dolly Golden, Lita Chase, Coral Sands, Tabatha Cash, Gina La Marca, Anna Nicole Smith, Brande Rodericks, Sally Layd, Jay Sweet, and Vanessa to be women with some serious substance (no pun inadvertently intended - it was intentional) in them. And even if it makes people doubt my lifestyle choice, for the women who read my blog I thought I should name a few men too - Peter North, Vince Voyeur, Drago, and Rocko, in no particular order.

Having seen enough moving pictures of this genre to have reached a stage where I can detach myself completely when the 'mechanical motion' is on in full swing, I can safely say that I have begun to appreciate the nuances of making movies that would have any four of these stories:
  1. Delivery man knocks on the door of a lonely woman whose husband is away on a business trip
  2. Aspiring actress pleases producer (could be male or female)
  3. Small town bloke exploited in the city by a wealthy woman
  4. Secretary and boss (do I need to say more?)
  5. Hapless woman with a broken down car in the middle of nowhere is given a, umm, ride by a good Samaritan
  6. Man/woman is given a demo of the 'toys' by the lady behind the counter of a sex shop
  7. Horny woman realises self help is the best help
  8. Coach/teacher instructs on more than math/science/tennis/it does not matter
  9. Cop strip searches a man/woman
  10. Bride makes it with the best men (could number between 1 and 3) when she discovers the groom and the bridesmaids (could number between 1 and 4) together
  11. Hot couples' therapist (always female) infuses life into dead marriage
  12. Businesswoman goes all the way to broker deals
Why four combinations? Simple. It is like an act in a play with each act lasting anywhere between 15 and 25 minutes. And voila, you have an hour and a half of what can be termed a movie. This sells, and how!

But it is not as easy as it looks. In my time (this is not to say that I was ever a part of the industry (somehow to me the phrase just sounds classy) or that I am now old (what if I am balding and half my teeth are gone?)), I learnt through what I choose to describe as informational reading material that you need stunt doubles for these movies too. No, there is no jumping off a building or racing through a freeway here. The stunt doubles are used for those pressing times of need when the actor's pecker just refuses to rise to the occasion. A whole legion of men has been gainfully employed by this industry to render this specific service. Nifty camerawork ensures that we only see what they are doubling up for.

Sometimes the ease with which the actors get into impossible positions leaves one with their jaws touching the floor. As if it was not enough hard work, did they have to make it harder by doing it underwater? Or with the woman's legs spread so wide you could drive an eighteen-wheeler through? What's the idea? To tell us that sex takes superhuman effort? Yeah, that is why we are a nation of one billion. Just imagine if it was any easier!

So what was the change in perspective that I gloated over? That I have started to perceive them as more than means of healthy recreation. But I already said that. Why did I write so much more then? Because it is my blog and I can write whatever I want to.

Current Mood: Gloomy
Current Music: I am too sexy...
At the peril of undoing all that I hoped I had managed to do with my previous post, I thought I should touch upon something that the few remaining veterans of this gasping blog section would be able to savour. Before I get there, let's delve on this thought that has just struck me. The phrase I used to kick this post off is one of my most favourite ones, perhaps second only to 'you are suffering from peer pressure'. Pity, I never used either on my blog until now. This is as good a time as any to make up.

At the peril of being nostalgic, I thought we should take a trip down memory lane to a time when men were real men, women were real women and small posts made on blogs were real small posts made on blogs. It was a time when good writing was given the credit it deserved, a time when the bloggers appreciated intellectual balderdash (an oxymoron?), and a time when writers did not write for the sake of it. Sometimes serious attempts were made (none by me though) to say for others what they could not say properly for themselves.

At the peril of sounding blase, or even of the ofay (my definition for all those who behave like Simi Garewal did/does/will do on that show of hers called Rendezvous) society class, blogging had a refreshing feel to it which is not to say that it does not have so today but the fragrance seems to have dulled just a little bit. As blogger upon blogger decided to move on (I am still foxed why, especially in the cases of Neurotron, Aran, Aloque and Patch), they took away with them some of the life that they themselves had infused. The old rang out but the young never really rang in. Now what would Tennyson say to that? I wonder.

At the peril of coming through as obnoxious, and not just because I have used this phrase four times in as many paragraphs, sometimes it is almost painful when youth does not take over from where age left off. I do not know the point behind this post, the same way I do not know the point behind any of my posts. But this one seems a little closer to heart than most.

Current Mood: Gloomy
Current Music: A deafening silence...
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